Scooch
by darylsdiva1
Summary: Short one shot inspired by questions raised by the Season 4 premiere; my answer to what exactly is going on with Carol and Daryl. Very Caryl.
1. Chapter 1: Scooch

_Scooch_

"How'd she take it?"

"Fine...well, a little too fine if ya ask me."

"No tears?"

"Nope. Just asked how I was doin' and then practically bowled me over in a hug."

"Oh she _did_, did she?" Carol asked archly.

_"Stop!"_ Daryl said, as he pulled off his leather vest and draped it over the back of the chair next to the bed and toed off his boots. "Now scooch over-s'cold out'chere."

"Why Daryl Dixon, are you anglin' for an invite into my bed?" Carol asked, batting her eyes at him.

"_Our_ bed, woman! Now _scooch!" _he ordered. Carol grinned, moved closer to the wall and then lifted the covers for him to slide in beside her. He burrowed in, taking her in his arms and she curled into him, laying her head on his chest.

"I'm sorry about Zach, he was a good kid." She said quietly, knowing how hard it was for him to lose anyone on a mission he led.

"He saved me-took out a walker I didn't see comin' up behind me-then he saved Bob-but he got caught at the last worst second as we were runnin' from a fuckin' _Huey_ droppin' through the roof. Christ-when those things started comin' down on us like some hell rain I almost lost my shit..."

He'd been afraid-truly terrified for the first time in a long time. Daryl hadn't thought anything could get to him anymore, that he'd seen the worst this god damned apocalypse could shove down his throat and had come out on the other side, but today...well, today had reminded him how easy it still was to die.

They'd scouted the site, had made two previous trips there to secure it and they'd still gotten their asses handed to them and had lost a man for the first time in a month.

"There's no way you could've known—" Carol told him, worried that he would beat himself up over this, see it as emblematic of his self perceived failings as a leader, "No way _anyone_ could've known that would happen."

When Rick had stepped down as leader, they'd all had to step up, no one more than Daryl. He'd changed so much in the last three years, more so in the last six months that they'd had here in the relative safe haven that the prison provided. At first he was tentative and uncomfortable with giving anyone orders, preferring to patrol the woods and hunt on his own, like always, but then he began bringing them back—the new people—survivors from places other than Woodbury. Rick had already found a few while out on runs with Michonne, and they'd come up with the test, the three questions, how many walkers have you killed, how many people and why?

These people had never known the old Daryl, the short fused hot head who had little time for anyone other than his brother, or even the closed off and belligerent but heroic man who had saved T-Dog on the highway and almost died looking for Sophia. They knew the Daryl who had become a much loved member of a close knit family with ties forged in death and war. This Daryl was more open to the possibilities around him, though still uncomfortable with anyone acknowledging what all he contributed to the group.

And then there was Carol.

She'd changed as well of course. From abused housewife to sharp shooting bad ass, she was confident and capable of taking on just as much responsibility as him. The entire group relied on her, looked to her for the necessities of everyday living—she organized everything from the mess hall kitchen and laundry to the shift schedule for fence clearers, scavenging runs and the school. They were both leaders now, had a high status in the new little community, and were looked up to by everyone. And so the gossip followed.

The new people had noticed how easy they were with each other; their old friends saw how Daryl often looked to Carol for cues in dealing with his new social obligations. When the C & D cell blocks had been cleared and cleaned, giving everyone a bit more breathing room, Beth had decided she wanted her own space and had moved out of the cell she had been sharing with Carol.

Daryl had taken to walking Carol back to her now private cell after dinner or watch duty, often lingering to talk over a cup of coffee or tea, especially if she'd saved him a biscuit or cookie to go with it.

One night about two months ago, after he'd gotten back very late from a run, he'd found her sitting on her bed, sewing by the low light of a battery powered Coleman lantern. He'd looked like hell—walkers had blocked the entire road and he'd been forced off his bike—it was a pretty damn hairy and he'd only been saved by the fact that the rest of the group had jumped out of their vehicles to wade into the small herd, coming to his rescue. The entire right side of his body was bruised from where he'd laid the bike down, that side of his pants ripped and gravel road rash ground into his knee, but his vest and leather sleeved jacket had saved his upper body and the side of his face when he'd thrown his arms up protectively. He'd been lucky he'd been able to slow and almost stop before actually running into or over any bodies.

He toed off his motorcycle boots, still covered in mud and blood so he wouldn't track it into her cell and then stood in the doorway looking at her, angelic, the soft light making her pale skin and silvered hair almost glow.

"That my shirt?" he asked softly and she smiled, her head still down concentrating on her work.

"Pants-I'm just patching the rips in your knees." she told him.

"I meant the one yer wearin'" he clarified, and she blushed, touching the front of the blue plaid flannel shirt he'd left the other day for her to repair, that she'd put on for warmth as she sewed. She looked up at him with a smile. He stepped into the room, into the light and as soon as she saw the state he was in she dropped her work and rose, coming under his left shoulder to help him sit on her bed.

"So that's why you were late." she said without intonation as she knelt in front of him, gently pulling aside the fabric at his injured knee to check the extent of his injury. She reached over and picked up her scissors, intending to use them to extend the rip.

"Just gonna have to sew it back up again." he said with dry amusement, picking up the dungarees she'd been working on and looking at the repair. She stopped what she was doing and looked up at him, her eyes narrowing.

"Do you have any idea what a _thin edge_ I am on here?" she told him angrily. He blinked at her and frowned. "You could've _died_! Every time you go out there _that's _what I have to live with—the fact that you might not come back!" She rose up and shoved at him, her hands on his chest, furious.

"Hey! Hey—_stop_..." Daryl soothed, grabbing her upper arms. Shit, she was crying. "Ah, sweetheart, _don't..." _her head came up at the endearment, her liquid blue eyes meeting his. "I'll _always_ come back," he told her and she shook her head at him, denying the pretty lie. "I'll always come back..." he repeated, but then finished his statement, "...to wherever_ you_ are." she frowned at him, afraid to believe what he was telling her. "First thing I did when we got back—didn't go see Dr. S or Hershel like they were tryin' to make me do—came _here, to you_—had to see _you._ Not just so's you could fix my bumps and bruises neither," he told her, sliding his right hand up over her shoulder to her neck, his thumb finding her pulse point there, fluttering rapidly, his long fingers wrapping around her nape.

"Why, Daryl? Why did you come _here_?" she asked him searchingly.

"Coz you're the person knows me best, person I trust most in this world." he told her, but her frown deepened and her eyes seemed to become even more guarded, almost sad. She looked down, away from him, breaking eye contact.

"I'm glad you trust me." was all she said, in that same calm monotone and then she tried to pull away from him, but he wouldn't release her. "I need to look at your knee." she told him. He let go of his hold on her and she stood.

Daryl's brows drew together as he studied her, his eyes wary, hopeful. Carol moved her hands to the neck of his jacket, pushing it off of his shoulders and then found the cuff zipper pulls and worked them open so she could tug the sleeves down and finish removing it, hanging it off the back of the chair next to the bed. He sat very still, frozen in place by the fact that she was _undressing _him, waiting to see what she'd do next.

"You trust me?" Carol asked him, coming to stand before him, her eyes searching his face. He gave her that small smile she'd seen before, just the barest upward tilt of one side of his mouth, as he nodded, his chin dipping down just once. She moved to the cell door and untied the scarf that held the sheet hung as a curtain open and it fell, voluptuously slow, to cover the outside world's view of the inner space they occupied.

Daryl felt his mouth go dry and his heart speed up as she walked back towards him, removing the oversized flannel shirt—his shirt—that she wore. Under it she had on her usual russet tank top and a pair of thin black sleep pants, her feet covered by grey cotton socks with red heels and toes, the kind out of which people made sock monkeys.

"What the hell you got on yer feet?" he chuckled in surprise, some of the tension leaving his body.

"You don't like my socks?" Carol came over to stand in front of him, raising her leg up on her tip toe so he could see the two tone socks better, "Michonne brought them back from her last run for me."

"I think she meant for ya to make toys outa 'em..." Daryl said with a little catch in his voice, "Fer all the little ones." He cleared his throat, "You know—them sock monkey things."

"You think?" she said.

"Well, yer always sewin' on somethin'..." he said, "helpin' with the kids... fixin' someone...uh...I mean ..._somethin._.. so I suppose-"

"Daryl?" she interrupted.

"Huh?"

"I need you to take off your pants." she said, and he blushed, but she sighed and added, gently, "So I can take care of your knee."

Daryl frowned. He had hoped it was for an entirely different reason that she had removed his jacket, closed the curtain and taken off the long sleeved shirt that had hid her lovely form from him. He'd learned to school himself not to stare at her long legs and perfectly curved ass as she moved around the prison precinct, remember to avert his gaze when she worked at the fences, punching through the heads of walkers, because of the way her breasts bounced with her graceful movements. If the woman didn't learn to wear a bra more often it might just kill him...even now, as she stood in front of him, tapping her foot impatiently as he absorbed her request, he was mesmerized by their soft sway under her ribbed tank. As he watched, her nipples peaked and he swallowed hard again.

"Daryl." she said, "your knee?" and she stepped closer to him.

"Don't give a shit about my knee," he groaned, snaking his right hand out and grabbing her wrist to drag her to him, so her chest was even with his mouth, burying his face between her breasts.

_"Daryl?"_ she choked out and he found the hem of her little shirt with both hands and burrowed them underneath it.

"Please? _Gotta..."_ he begged, in a low gravelly voice.

_"I trust you."_ she whispered and he sighed in relief, pulling the garment up and over her head and tossing it to the floor. And then he saw them—the scars another man's cruelty had left on her body. He leaned in and pressed a chapped lip kiss to the curve of her left breast, under the nipple, the two curved rows of puckered indentations there that would conform to a man's teeth horrifying him for her sake. Other bite marks and small white circles which he knew from personal experience had been left by the red hot end of a burning cigarette were scattered over both breasts. He lifted her then and laid her down on the bed so he could move over her and kiss every one, healing them for her the only way he knew how, with his tender acceptance.

Her breath hitched and she lightly held the back of his head to her, amazed at his gentleness. When he reached the center of her right breast, he let his tongue sweep out to taste her then, the hard nub sweet as he drew it into his mouth and sucked down. Carol sighed audibly and her fingers tightened on his long dark hair and she curled her body down so she could place a kiss on the top of his head.

Daryl realized then that he'd gotten ahead of himself...he raised his head and looked up at her... and she was smiling that indulgent smile she gave him when he had done something right...

"Shoulda kissed you first." he murmured, chastened.

"Don't hear me complaining." she told him, "but you could do it now, if you like." she smiled, reaching down to push his long bangs back so she could see his eyes, pupils wide, deep blue with desire.

He moved to lie down beside her, but the narrow prison bed didn't have much room and she was smack dab in the middle of it, leaving no place for his bigger muscular body to fit.

"Scoot over." He said, and nudged her right hip.

"Scoot? You mean _scooch._" She admonished, smiling up at him impishly.

"Whatta ya on about now?" he raised an eyebrow at her-just like this damn woman to be correcting his English when he was trying to make love to her...

"_Scooch_-it means move your butt over a little." She said, with her eyes crinkling as her smile broadened. He shook his head and tilted his head to the side, looking at her consideringly.

"That selfsame ass you been teasin' me with?" he purred, calling her on all of the times she just happened to be bending over or up on a ladder when he was walking by. He'd pretty near ran into Rick's back and had stepped on the man's heels just the other day he'd been so busy lookin' at her behind in a pair of tight jeans as she climbed the stairs to the second floor cells.

"Why Mr. Dixon, I didn't think you noticed such things." She pouted prettily, sticking her lower lip out.

That did it.

Daryl slid both hands under her back and bodily lifted her, making room for himself on the bed, facing each other side by side, his arms around her, one hand on her butt and the other in the middle of her back.

"There-I _scooched_ you." He muttered; his mouth only an inch or two from hers. Her hands moved to his nape, drawing his mouth to hers, sharing the same breath.

"I'm glad." She whispered and touched her lips to his.


	2. Chapter 2: Healed

_**I know this was just supposed to be a one shot, but this second chapter was half written before I could stop it, so I finished it & here you go. For those who wanted to know what came next: a teeny bit of angst & much sweet smut for our Caryl.**_

* * *

_**Healed**_

Was this really finally happening? Was he actually here, in her bed, with his strong arms wrapped tightly around her body, holding her against his? Were those his warm dry lips moving over hers, his whiskers softly scraping against her chin and cheek? She opened her mouth and brushed her tongue against his lower lip in a kitten lick; tasting the bitter coffee he must've drunk to stay awake on his journey home to her.

Carol smiled as she felt him shiver, heard him make a small whimpering sound in his throat as he let his lips part for her questing tongue. She tightened her fingers' grip on the long hair that spilled down over his shirt collar, pulling him closer and angling her head slightly so she could deepen the kiss, finding his tongue with hers, and this time he groaned and he kissed her back with the passion she knew he had banked there inside him, waiting, like embers, for someone to set him aflame.

Daryl found the stretch waistband at the back of her sleep pants and he dipped just the tips of his fingers inside and under it, testing her resolve to continue. He wasn't sure what she was expecting, didn't know how to ask without sounding like he didn't know what he was doing...which he didn't...not really...

He'd gotten much more comfortable with touch over the time he'd been with these people. Before the Atlanta camp the only touch in his life had been doled out with pain. It had rendered him almost like an autistic child in some ways, shying away from any human contact, avoiding, defensively flinching or fighting back when it was given. But these people,_ all_ of them from infant Judith to grandfatherly Hershel, were free with_ good_ touch—the pat on the back, the hand to the shoulder, the hand clasp, the hug—all of these things came as naturally to them as breathing. By now he'd better learned to accept it from them, his family, and even give it when needed, but it had taken years for him to overcome his self imposed canon against letting anyone in.

When he'd seen Carol rushing past him to get to Sophia that day at the barn, it had broken down all of his hard and fast rules against touching _her_ in particular. She'd scared him—she could've _died_. It had been the first of three of the most important things he'd ever done...in his whole life... the three times he'd saved her. There at the barn, then the night the herd overran the farm and finally, finding her in the Tombs. Each time he'd felt her body full flush against his, holding her to him or her hanging on as she rode behind him on the Triumph, pressing her softly curving form against his back—they had all been the precursors of this, here with her now. They were together, on a bed, her half naked, in his arms, and she was kissing the shit out of him. The problem was he didn't know what the hell to do next, how to make love to her like she _deserved_. He'd almost come just from kissing her beautiful breasts before; was so hard he was in pain from it now, wanted her so much he was making noises like some damn puppy begging for a biscuit.

Carol let her hands slide down from his neck to his broad shoulders, reveling in the warm firm flesh of his muscular biceps, skimming over elbows, forearms, wrists until she reached his hands, drawing them both down, pushing them under the waistband of her pants, under further until they were holding her bare ass firmly cupped in them. She moved her own hands to her front and continued pulling the stretchy sleep wear down until she could kick them off along with her sock monkey socks that had so amused him. Daryl broke the kiss and looked over at her, a bit dizzy, breathing heavily.

"I just laid all my cards on the table," she told him levelly, "You gonna ante up, Dixon?" she asked, toying with his top shirt button. His forehead wrinkled and she saw the underlying fear and pain haunting his passion flushed face. She lifted her right hand to his cheek.

"Do you know what a scar is?" she asked him and he frowned at her. "It's a place where you _healed_. Someone cut or burnt or slashed or bit or beat you thinking they could _mark_ you as theirs—make you _theirs_...but scars are just the ghosts of those wounds, healed over ghosts—powerless because your flesh knit itself back together and _healed._ Your scars are beautiful, Daryl, because they mean you survived. You accepted mine, and I accept yours because they're part of what made you who you are—a man who would never hurt anyone you care about—the man who understands_ me_ like no one I've ever known could—the man I _love._"

Daryl felt the tears filling his eyes, felt himself starting to panic at the intense emotions rising up, trying to choke him. He'd never felt this way before—his heart thudded in his chest, he couldn't breathe—gasping, he released her and threw himself back, hitting the floor painfully on his bruised right side and then scrambled up, his back against the wall of the cell, his head down, trying to catch his breath.

"Daryl?" Carol's soft voice came from right in front of him. She knew enough not to touch him, but she was concerned that he would pass out—he seemed to be having some sort of panic attack. He'd been doing so well, accepting and even initiating _intimacy_ in a way he'd never done before—god _damn_ his father and Merle, who hadn't protected his baby brother from that monster—both of them inflicting the damage he was trying to deal with now so they could be together...

Daryl's head came up and he looked at her, his eyes wet, vividly blue behind his shaggy bangs. He looked her slender form up and down, as if he was just remembering or realizing she wore nothing, that she'd bared herself to him unashamedly, body, heart and soul. He groaned and grabbed her upper arms and spun her around so she took his place, her back pressed against the wall and he kissed her, hard, using his mouth to try to _show_ her how much what she'd just told him had meant to him because he just couldn't say it—it would take too many words...

"Stay." he growled and released her, taking a step back so he could unbutton his shirt just far enough to give him room to pull it off over his head. Her breath caught from seeing the broad expanse of his chest and arms, the blue inked name over his heart and the demon riding his bicep adding to his mysteries. He was thin—still too thin—but that made the long muscles ripple under his skin, the abs at his narrow waist sharply defined above the belt of his low slung black jeans.

He squinted at her, self conscious over his tattoos and scars, knowing that his oft beaten and broken body was by no means desirable, hoping she could overlook its imperfections; hoping that she really _believed_ what she'd just said to him about being healed because _she'd healed him_...

"You're beautiful." Carol whispered with such sincerity that he could almost believe it was true. And then she smiled a little smile, "If I said you had a beautiful body would you hold it against me?" she quoted the line from an old joke or song, she couldn't recall which, but he didn't smile back. Instead he looked almost dangerous, intense, studying her like a predator, like he was some big cat and she, his mouse. Daryl took a step towards her and raised his arm to slap his right palm flat against the wall beside her head. His left hand found the curve of her hip, but he didn't move yet to embrace her more fully. He stared at her, waves of heat and power coming off his addictively sleek body.

"Here or the bed?" he asked, his voice dry and gravelly.

"Here." she said, looking him in the eye. She took a deep breath and sighed, a small sound of anticipation and surrender, "Nightstand." she said and he looked at her quizzically, "the _box_ in the top drawer of my nightstand," she told him and he took two quick steps back, opened it and snorted as he lifted out an unopened box of condoms. He raised both eyebrows high in surprise and she blushed and pursed her lips.

"Somthin' you wanna tell me?" he asked archly.

"They were a gift from Maggie." The girl had handed them to her a few weeks ago when they were sorting through boxes of goods that had been brought back from a scavenging run. Carol had frowned at her and tried to give them back, but Maggie had refused, looking over at Daryl who was busy talking to Rick and Hershel, then smiled, saying that she was a "hopeful romantic" and walked away. Embarrassed, Carol had stuck the box in her nightstand to hide them from Beth.

"When?" he asked, narrowing his eyes and tilting his head at her speculatively.

"Do you really care?" she asked him, and he shrugged, opened the box and pulled out one foil wrapped square tossing the rest onto the bed. He prowled over to her and then she reached out to find the buckle of his belt and started working to loosen it. He swallowed hard as she moved to the button and zipper next.

"It'll prob'ly be fast..." he warned—he had very little control left—but she just smiled and pushed his pants and briefs down and off of his narrow hips, letting them fall to the floor. He stepped out of them and finally she felt all of him as he pushed her back against the wall and pressed against her. His heat in front and the cool concrete at her back made her feel like she was in some sort of fever dream. Her breasts were crushed against his chest, their bellies together as they kissed again. He found her right hand with his and dragged it to his cock, needing her touch, grunting as her small cool hand closed over his steel core hardness. She made a sound deep in her throat at his size—she'd already known he was so much more of a man than her dead bastard of a husband could've ever hoped to be—_but holy Hannah._..

He knew he at least had something to be proud of in that department from her reaction, but for all her strength, she was such a little scrap of a woman that he worried...

"I don' wanna hurt you." he moaned against her neck, "Wanna help..." he muttered and his right hand moved down her belly to find her cleft, intent on helping her get off first no matter how long it took, but she was already so ready for him, so wet and turned on that as soon as his fingers circled her swollen bud she cried out and pushed against his hand, her whole body trembling. She wrapped her left arm around his neck and lifted herself up on her toes, finding his ear and giving his earlobe a sharp nip.

"Please Daryl, don't make me wait anymore..." she begged in a throaty moan.

_"Shit..."_ he groaned and he lifted the foil packet to his mouth and bit down, ripping it open so he could remove the contents and swiftly roll it on. Then his hands went under her ass, lifting her and pushing her back against the wall, sliding his hands to her thighs, wrapping her legs around him. She used her right hand to guide him to her center, staring into his eyes as he bucked his hips up and forward, pushing into her. Her right hand joined her left at his neck, holding on for dear life. Her head went back, thunking lightly against the wall and her mouth came open, her eyes shut and her breathing became erratic as she tried to hold onto some control, but it felt so exquisite, so amazing to have him inside her, that she made high pitched little screams with each movement he made to sheathe himself deeper.

"Carol? _Sweetheart?_ You ok?" Daryl ground out; still worried he was hurting her, unsure yet what her noises meant. She felt like heaven, wrapped so tightly around him, but he was afraid to move...

"So..._good..." _she finally got out_, "Oh god, Daryl, it's so..."_ and she opened her crystal blue eyes to stare into his cerulean. "It's perfect." she told him, smiling and locking her legs around him.

"_You're_ perfect." he said, kissing her sweetly, lingeringly, and then resting his forehead on hers as he started to move in gentle thrusts and she grinned at the intensity of his expression, his brow knit together in concentration, his mouth set in a firm line_. "What?"_ he asked, leaning his head back and frowning at her.

"You're so cute when you're all serious." she said adoringly, kissing the tip of his nose.

"The hell you say." he groused and bent at the knees so his next thrust was more powerful, making her grab at his shoulders, look at him in wonder and cry out in pleasure.

"Oh god, _Daryl_!" she whimpered.

"_Cute_ huh?" he growled triumphantly and found a driving rhythm, the muscles of his back and round ass bunching as he drove himself into her over and over.

"_Carol?_ You up? Your lights still on—I can't find the extra diapers they brought back from-_holy shit!"_

They'd been so wrapped up in each other they hadn't heard Rick's footsteps walking down the corridor, hadn't seen him push aside the sheet over the doorway and stick his head in to ask her his inane question. He held baby Judith in his arms and she looked at them curiously and then reached her chubby arms out towards them.

"Ca! Da!" she cried happily—her one syllable names for Carol and Daryl. Rick put his hand over the baby's eyes.

"_Hope she's not scarred for life,_" Rick muttered to himself, and then started sniggering.

"Get the fuck out! Ain't no _show_!" Daryl snarled at his best friend, keeping Carol's body covered with his. Rick winked at Carol, who was peeking wide-eyed at him over Daryl's shoulder, and then the former sheriff took the one step back that was needed to allow the curtain to drop shut again. They heard him walking back down the corridor, whistling the tune to "If I Only Had a Brain" from _the Wizard of Oz._

"Ain't no privacy in this whole damn place." Daryl bit out. He looked at Carol, his voice softening, "You ok?"

"Are _you_?" she asked him tenderly, moving her right hand up his cheek—reddened with exertion or embarrassment or both she wasn't sure.

"First time I sorta feel sorry for Glenn and Maggie." he said wryly and she smirked at him, glad to see he was able to see the humor in the situation. He quirked her a shy smile back and it lit up his whole face, his eyes so warm and blue it made her heart hurt. Carol reached up and pushed his hair off of his forehead so she could see them fully and then she slowly traced her index finger down the bridge of his nose and over his lips to his chin, finding the little patch of white in his beard that hadn't been there when she'd first met him. She held his chin, pulling it lower so she could swirl a lick over his lower lip.

It was like she'd lit the dried tinder over the embers again and Daryl suddenly realized at what point they'd been interrupted. He groaned and captured her mouth with his, and she tightened her legs around him, her right hand moving to tangle in his hair as her left gripped his shoulder blade, feeling the ropy 'X' of scar tissue under her fingers. He plunged his tongue past her lips and teeth and she met him with the same ardor, yanking on his dark locks as she felt him start to move his hips again, slowly building, his mouth leaving hers so he could moan and lick down the side of her face, finding the silky soft spot where her neck and shoulder met and opening his mouth over it, sucking down hard, his teeth grazing her flesh as he thrust hard into her.

Carol screamed out his name and they both lost all semblance of control. She bucked her hips into his and ground out little high pitched cries as she felt his muscles tense and his breath come in gasps and groans as he made love to her with his whole body.

"_Oh shit...oh god...Carol?"_ his voice was higher pitched, sounding so vulnerable.

_"I'm with you-love you, boo,"_ she assured him.

_ "Love you, sweetheart..."_ he told her.

* * *

The next evening when she finally made it back to her cell after what had seemed like an unending day filled with busy work, walking hand in hand with Daryl, the curtains were already down. She looked over at him and he frowned and pulled his knife out of its sheath at his hip and she drew her pistol from her leg holster. He silently counted off and on three she whipped the curtain back. What was waiting there made them both lower their weapons in mute surprise.

Someone had removed the narrow prison bunk bed set and replaced it with what looked like at least a full sized bed complete with sheets, pillows and a blue quilt. Wildflowers in a beer bottle vase had been placed on the nightstand alongside a candle, a lighter, a bottle of wine and two juice glasses.

"Did you?" she asked him.

"Just gonna ask you the same thing." he demurred, shaking his head no. Daryl moved to the head of the bed and saw an envelope on the pillows. He picked it up and showed it to her and she came over and sat down on the bed, patting the space beside her and he snorted, but sat as well.

The envelope had both of their names on it and wasn't sealed. Daryl opened it and they both leaned in and read the short note.

_Carol & Daryl:_

_Sorry about last night—hope this helps make up for it._

_ Rick_

_ P.S. It's about time!_


End file.
